Like Harry Peyton, hanging off Cora’s every soft-spoken word, his own lips parted as if in expectation of a kiss. Mrs. Ogden glaring in Cora’s direction between bites, clearly affronted by her tablemate’s preference for the younger, prettier conversationalist. Mrs. Vandemeer also staring across the table at Cora—though not at her face, exactly. She appears to be hypnotically transfixed by the gem hanging about Cora’s neck. Perhaps it looks all the more sparkly through Mrs. Vandemeer’s chemically altered gaze.
Alice smiles. Cuts another bite of her terrapin steak. Ogden, thank goodness, has taken enough of an interest in his meal to stop attempting to murmur into her ear, so she dares glance past him at Arabella, who of all the assemblage looks outright miserable. She turns her narrow-set eyes from a downcast position fixed on her plate up to Ogden from time to time, either hoping or fearing that he’ll engage her in conversation, then, rather more desperately, across the table to where Harry sits leaning ever closer to Cora.
Her mother has taken note of it as well, Alice can see.
Mrs. Ames clears her throat loudly enough to cut throughthe clatter of silver and chitchat, then turns to Alice with an overbright smile.
“I must say, we’re all desperate to hear what news you’ve received of home, Duchess. Although I confess...” She dabs her lips with her napkins as if playfully locking a secret inside. “From what your brother has written, it seems Württemberg will see political changes within the year... Your brother on the throne, God willing... and perhaps a royal wedding to follow?”
“Mother!” Arabella’s shout silences the table. She looks a little startled herself when all eyes turn to her. A miniature lobster has tumbled from her plate with the force of her jolt. “You’re reading my letters? They’re personal.”
She stares down at her lap, her face bright pink. Across the table, Harry’s brow furrows with concern.
“A mother needs to know,” Mrs. Ames soldiers on. “I promise your secrets will be entirely your own once you’re in charge of your own home. Or castle, as the case may be.”
She sips her claret, smug as a cat, eyes darting around the table for everyone’s reactions. If she’s expecting envy, it’s cut off quickly by Mr. Ames’s sudden sniff.
“Whatisthe situation in Württemberg?” he pipes up. Alice starts with a slight jolt, realizing this may very well be the first time she’s ever heard the man speak. His voice is surprisingly high, even for a man of his diminutive size. “I need to know I’m not sending my daughter into an impending war zone. No child of mine is going to go traveling around the world begging for guest rooms as some princess in exile.”
A gasp goes around the table on Alice’s behalf. Ogden puts a hand to her wrist and starts to rise, as if preparing toengage in fisticuffs in her honor right here at the table, but Alice preempts him with a sad smile.
“You are a kind father, and a thoughtful one,” she says to the rattish Mr. Ames. “It is a lonely life, being uprooted from one’s home. But thankfully, what Mrs. Ames said is correct. My brother, the grand prince, has told me the tide is turning for the nationalists. The last harvest has been disastrous, and King Charles spends most of his time on holiday in Nice rather than with his people. An envoy has been dispatched to discuss the terms of his giving up the crown.”
“Abdication,” Mr. Ames says, as if informing her of the word.
She nods. “Indeed.”
“Well, that right there is news to be celebrated,” Ward crows, standing up himself, wine lifted high. “To the people of Württemberg and their freedom to come!”
“Hear, hear!” resounds around the table.
Ogden awkwardly sits. “Once the resistance has proven successful, you can finally turn your mind to yourself. No need to be a saint any longer.”
He keeps his voice dry and neutral, but the expression in his dark eyes, barely visible through his thick, falling dark hair, broadcasts his meaning plainly enough.
For goodness’ sake, the man is shameless.
“I’m afraid Württemberg will have more need of me than ever before,” Alice says.
“How so, Your Grace?” Ward strokes his pointed beard.
“In the service of commerce,” Alice says, and she swears that all the men at the table lean forward slightly at the word. Apart from Harry, anyway. “One thing these past years have highlighted is how passive we have been, allowing Berlin to makedecisions for our people in Württemberg. We see what those decisions led to—Austrians and Hungarians marching in and plundering our emeralds, harassing our peasants, trampling our fields, as if our proud land is but a clearinghouse for the spoils of their treaty. With my brother as king, it will be a different matter. We can set the terms of trade once again, including, of course, our principal export.”
She nods to Cora. Everyone turns to look.
Cora blinks. Utterly blank. Alice glares downward at her bosom.
“Oh! Yes!” Cora startles, then fiddles rather inelegantly with the gemstone. “Silly me, yes, this is our, ah, principal export. Württembergian emeralds. I have so many at home, you see, dozens and dozens, that I didn’t... know to what you were referring.”
“You’re wearing one tonight?” Harry asks, courteously avoiding looking down at it. “An emerald from—”
“From home, yes.” Cora sips her wine, dipping her chin as if shy and not entirely caught off guard, but Alice knows better.
“And you say you have... dozens and dozens of similar jewels back home?” Mr. Vandemeer asks, a keen light sparking in his eye.
“There is a folk saying among our people,” Alice chimes in, her eyes dancing. “‘When the well runs dry, dig another and look for green.’ It is not so common as all that, but 'tis true that there are real accounts of peasants finding a very pleasant surprise as they’ve turned over their gardens. The vast majority of our emeralds are in the royal mines, the property of my family and Cora’s.”
“Must be nice,” Mimi says with a sniff. “Being an emeraldheiress instead of dirty old railroads. Can’t wear a train car around my neck, now can I?”
